f that the thing would be
primarily a means to my great impersonal end--I may as well admit it has
been in my mind all along! What could be a greater degradation than my
old way of living? Poor Mary! Why, I owe it to her as a duty to put an
end to all this misery. I'd face anything on earth now to make up to her
for the past! Besides, the idea is not at all so inhuman as I am trying
to make out. In a mildish sort of way, of course, I am really fond of
Miss Robinson. Her virtues _are_ a reality! She is plain, I admit--very
plain; but my eye has learnt to see her its own way--the way of the
portrait!"

Brusquely he flung his hesitations from him. Why should he not marry
Miss Robinson? Even in the driest aspect of the case, the match was not
inequitable. The "crude money"--yes, let him use the words
deliberately--the "crude money" on her side; on his a full equivalent in
his personal self, his no doubt brilliant career once sordid matters
were disposed of, and a sphere of existence that was obviously
interesting to her. If he brought no immediate fortune himself, his
future earnings, once he were free to work without anxiety, might well
be considerable. What was there in the idea to wound his pride? How
absurd his metaphor of the vulture!

And then he turned to dwell again with relief at the pleasanter aspects
of the case. Even if he were not attaining to passionate poetic dreams,
he would yet be carrying into effect a charming domestic ideal of peace
and tranquillity. And the very poetry of marriage began to invest Miss
Robinson with something of its own glamour. He saw her in a bridal veil
holding a big bouquet. His enthusiasm mounted.

And Mary's voice seemed to echo again in the studio: "What a charming
girl! She has such a good face, and I'm sure she's every bit as
beautiful as you've painted her." He almost felt himself blushing in
embarrassment; it was as if he himself were being commended. "She is so
simple and unaffected," went on Mary's voice with its unmistakable ring
of conviction. "One could repose absolute trust in her."

How shrewd and true was his sister's reading of the character! Moreover,
Mary had confessed to an almost superstitious thrill at gazing on the
features of the woman who had been the beginning of his good fortune.
Could he say that he was entirely free from the same sort of
superstitious sentiment? Alice Robinson had begun his good fortune; why
should she not complete it? If only that con